


Whiskey and Bad Decisions

by Elizabeth1985



Series: Destiel Ficlets [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean sings Taylor Swift, Drunk Kissing, Drunkenness, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 12:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4101499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabeth1985/pseuds/Elizabeth1985
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anonymous said: "Yay, prompt! Canon!verse (preferably season 11). Dean and Cas are on a case; they laugh and have fun and have too much to drink one night in the motel and end up kissing by mistake. Dean freaks out, Cas more calm. PLEEEEASE."</p><p>Ok, so this went in kind of a different direction. I was slightly all over the place with this story. It’s starts off dark and then gets weirdly fluffy/cracky kind of. Sorry, my writing is chaotic and aimless lately. Hence needing the prompts to try and sort things out... Anyway voila:</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whiskey and Bad Decisions

 The billows of wind batter against the side of the car and Dean curses as he grips the steering wheel just a bit tighter to keep Baby from swerving towards the centerline.

“Crazy storm coming in,” Sam comments, his face pushed forward as he glances up through the windshield at the looming dark gray skies.

“Gee, you’d think someone had gone and let darkness into the world,” Dean says. The snide edge of his voice is pointed and he purposefully looks his brother and Cas in the eye.

“Dean, we had no choice.” Sam has done nothing but argue the case for days now and Cas has been mostly silent on the matter. If they had never gone behind his back, if they had just let him deal with the Mark on his own, none of this BS would’ve happened.

“I’m sick of hearing it.” Dean reaches to the volume dial and eases it up a quarter turn. The station is set on a local alternative rock station and Hash Pipe by Weezer is playing.

Dean starts singing at the chorus, studiously ignoring the teeth-grinding from the passenger seat. “Oh, come on and kick me! Oh-oh-oh! Come on and kick me!”

By the time they roll into Fort Wayne, Indiana, the storm is givin’ it hard. The rain is crashing down in heavy drops, pattering against the metal of the car and it manages to drown out What Kind of Man by Florence and the Machine (a song that Dean secretly loves).

He’s half tempted to turn it up, they're only a couple miles from the motel, but considering the urgency, it might be best to head for the station first.

“Hit up the motel later?” Dean looks over at his brother. Sam shakes his head of whatever thoughts had been in there and nods.

The police station is right in the middle of town and Dean navigates through the thick rain to get there in decent time. They manage to find a space out front and rush into the building with their jackets held over their heads. An unseen puddle still gets the better of him though, and it was deep enough than some water managed to sink inside his shoe, and now his sock his wet. Goddammit.

The rain and vague “darkness” that looms over the world puts him in a sour mood and he’s rude to the officer they speak with. The check-in with the locals is quick and to the point and they don’t get much more than they already knew. People were disappearing from a cemetery just west of the station. No bodies have turned up but there’s some sort of myth floating around these parts that if you go to a certain spot in this cemetery you spontaneously die. Nothing happens without reason, Dean thinks, and considering the location, he suspects they’ll have to salt’n’burn some vengeful whoever in the next day or so. Christ, it’s a boring prospect.

He’d go for something a little more challenging if he had a choice. Something to take his mind off of everything. By the time they make it to the motel and check-in for the night, Dean’s ready to make a distraction of his own.

“What are you doing?” Sam asks him, judgment face loaded and ready to fire! Dean scoffs and swivels at his hips holding both Jim Bean in one hand and Dickel in the other. A good forty bucks spent.

“I’m deciding to spice up this little ghosty hunt and make the best of things.”

“We don’t know it’s a ghost, Dean,” Castiel says soberly. Sam raises his brows in silent agreement.

“I’m sorry, is this ‘Annoy Dean’ day? Guess I didn’t get the memo.” Dean smirks and unscrews the cap of Mr. Bean and takes a whiff. Well, it’s not classy by any means, but it’ll do.

“Seeing as you’re in a mood, I’m gonna go do some research at a Starbucks or something. Cas, you wanna come?” Sam grabs his computer and throws his coat around it before he snatches the keys from the table.

Cas looks back and forth between the two of them and Dean gives him a little grin. Heck, maybe he can entice Cas to have a drink with him. Guy’s not super powered up or anything so perhaps the booze he has will be enough.

“I think I’ll stay here.” Cas turns to Dean, his head slanted as he gets up from the far bed by the bathroom. “Someone should probably ensure Dean doesn’t give himself alcohol poisoning.”

Sam snorts. “Yeah. Good luck on that.” Shaking his head at Dean, he heads out into the storm and shuts the door behind him.

“Now that the party pooper is gone, let’s have some good times!” Dean grabs a cup from the table by the TV and pours it to the rim. He passes it off to Cas with a broad encouraging smile. “Bottoms up, Cas!”

The disgruntled angel eyes the glass with suspicion, and then turns that same look on Dean. “Why are you so inclined to get drunk this evening? Is it because you find the case dull?”

Dean laughs, mostly to himself. “Kind of. You know what? Things have been too damn dire for far too long. I used to enjoy hunting. I used to have a good time fightin’ evil and kickin’ ass. Guess I kind of miss the good ol’ days. Nothing wrong with a little fun, right?”

All at once, Cas seems to let go and accept his take on the whole thing. Grabbing the glass from Dean’s hands, he doesn’t pause before bringing it to his thick lips and letting every ounce of liquid flow down into his belly.

Dean is fucking impressed. “Wow… you, uh, really sucked it back.” Ahem. That was…interesting.

“I’ll need more than that to feel intoxicated.” Cas holds out his empty glass; a drip of liquid from the edge where his lips had latched on slips down the side and Dean has the ridiculous notion to lick it.

“Okay, yeah, yes, more alcohol. I’m on ya- _it!_ I’m on it!” Dean pours himself a glass first and throws that back. It burns.

Cas does another, and Dean follows suit. Three more glasses later and Dean is already unsteady on his feat. Cas seems not so bad, but Dean doesn’t so much trust his eyesight at the moment.

“I think I need to sit,” he says. Instead of doing that, he stays rooted on the spot. How the fuck do legs work again?

“Dean, you’re beginning to wobble.”

“Thank you.”

“That was not mean to be a compliment,” Castiel approaches, his glass half-full in his perfect hand. Man, that really is a perfect hand, Dean thinks to himself. Way more interesting than some shitty ghost hunt.

“No, I guess not. I have one though, you have really nice hands dude. I know a guys really not supposed to say that to another guy but like for real, you have perfectly formed hands. It’s mesmerizing.” Holy shit, I must be smashed, Dean thinks. He turns around in a head-spinning move and tries to focus on the bottle that sits on the table. It’s empty. Maybe he'd had more than he thought? Was that three drinks each? Or six for Dean? 

“Um, thank you.” Castiel raises the hands in question and seems to search for proof of what Dean just said.

“Music!” Dean yells so suddenly that Cas startles. “What is _wrong_ with me! We need music! This is no way to have fun.” Dean pats around himself as he bites his own lip, trying to remember where his phone is. “Phone, phone, phone…where are you you stupid no-good electronic piece of plastic?!”

Dean is immersed in searching his body when Cas takes his hands and holds them out wide. Dean looks across the short space between them and his mouth opens for no apparent reason. Like all of a sudden the air coming in through his nose just wasn’t enough. Cas looks at him to keep his arms still and Dean does, not sure why, but not exactly caring. Cas reaches down and shoves four fingers into Dean’s front pocket. The world spins for a second and Dean swallows the taste of alcohol still on his tongue.

Out of nowhere Cas is holding the iPhone in front of his face. “Your phone?”

“Yes!!!!!” Dean snatches it free from the beautiful hands and holds it nearly an inch from his face, narrowing his eyes into slits and tries to see through the boozey fog to read the screen properly. There’s a red button somewhere for music. Where the fuck is that?

“Jackpot!” Dean taps the button hard with his finger and taps again to whatever song is already there and waiting. The second he recognizes the song he jumps a little on the spot. It’s so hilariously fucking perfect.

“Once upon a time!” Dean sings. “A few mistakes ago…” Cas grins, wholly amused by his superb-tastic singing. “I was in your sights, you got me alone. You found me! E-ee-ee-ee!!!” Okay, so he’s a little sketchy on the lyrics.

Dean grabs Cas and spins him around and then tries to leap onto the bed afterwards to solo the chorus but sort of trips onto it instead. Whatever, he gets quickly to his knees and belts out, “I knew you were trouble when you walked in!!” And then he laughs at points at his friend. “You know that’s you right?!”

“That’s not a very nice thing to say.” Cas walks towards him, face all serious and shit.

Dean chuckles and reaches out to pat Cas on the head. “The trouble was worth it.” His hand on Cas’ head lazily slides off and lands on his shoulder. It’s familiar to him. All of a sudden the volume of music lowers and muffles as he stares at Cas’ ridiculously blue eyes. Those eyes and those hands, he thinks, its stupid and unfair.

“Why are you looking at me that way?” Castiel asks, but his tone seems confident, sure of the answer to his question, even if Dean is more or less directing all brain power to stay upright. Using the grip he’s got on Cas’ shoulder, he holds himself steady as his body seems to want to list forwards.

“I don’t know,” Dean says eventually, confusing screwing him up a bit. But he keeps staring and Cas’ face seems to be getting bigger and the room is getting darker. And God in Heaven, what happened to the air conditioning?

The scent of Cas suddenly overwhelms him and there’s a mouth on his. Cas’ mouth. They’re kissing… _They’re kissing?!?!_ His lips part of their own accord and Cas’ tongue slides right in like that’s where it belongs and Dean starts up a good full-body sweat. One raunchy moan escapes his throat before he throws himself back onto the bed and clamps both hands over his mouth.

“Oh my god!” he blurts out against his sweaty palms.

“What’s the matter?” Cas looks down at him, eyebrows pulled together.

If nothing else, the fog of booze has lifted some. Dean slowly peels his hands from his face and tries to form some English into sentences. “Uh, we, uh, we kissed. We kissed. _We kissed…_ ” Dean tilts his head and scrunches his nose. “I just had your tongue in my mouth.”

Castiel smirks and pulls at the tie already loose around his neck. “Yes you did. It was rather pleasant, I’d say. Don’t you agree?”

Fucking hell. “Um,” Wow. Top notch vocab, Dean. Really. Spectacular shit you got going there. “We kissed,” he says again. “With tongue.”

“You already mentioned that.” Castiel lifts his knee up on to the bed and Dean jumps off the side.

“Whoa, there. Okay, let me just clear my head a little.” To do that, Dean stumbles drunkenly to the dresser-table thing where the TV sits and the second bottle of Whiskey and takes a drink. Immediately, he knows this is a bad idea. The buzz of liquor seems to zap right down to his groin.

“That is a very poor method of clearing your head. You would fair better to have some caffeine.” Cas holds his eyes as he walks over and takes the bottle from Dean’s grip. The angel reaches up and swipes the dribble of whiskey that missed his mouth.

Dean rears back to get a better look at his friend. The dark hair and blue eyes are just slightly blurry.

Fuck it! What’s whiskey good for if not for making bad decisions!? “Bring it!” he says, trying to throw some flirtatious smirking Cas’ way. He’ll figure stuff out the morning, ya know like all that crap about not sleeping with your friends, and ya know, maybe his shifting sexual orientation that’s taking a turn towards dick at the moment.

“You want to resume kissing?” Cas asks, coming a little closer; his body heat adding to Dean’s sense of intoxication. It also starts up some of that earlier panic about tongues in mouths.

“Only if you stop talking about it,” Dean leans in and grabs Cas’ hips to draw him the last few inches closer.

With a low growl, Cas throws his arms around Dean’s neck and attacks him with a kiss that’s so overzealous they end up tripping and falling towards the bed.

…

The sun pierces through the curtains with malicious intent. Dean puts the pillow over his head and groans.

“Not feeling so hot, huh?” Sam’s amused voice breaks though his foggy awakening and Dean bolts up, the pillow flying off the bed, as sloppy images come roaring back into his brain. Oh Christ, let’s hope that was a dream, he thinks. But when he sees Sam’s face, all unfettered glee; a sea of endless taunts on the very tip of his tongue, Dean knows he’s screwed. Slowly pivoting in the bed, he looks over and sees Cas lying beside him.

And the guy is butt-naked.

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say you guys had some fun last night!” says Sam, taking a tiny sip from his Starbucks cup.

Grumbling from the pillows, Cas says, “Dean panicked when we kissed”—they hear a short laugh—“you should’ve seen the look on his face when I—“

“—Dude!” Dean slaps Cas on the ass nearly as hard as he can. “Not another word!”

“Hmm,” Cas pleasantly murmurs into the pillow and wiggles his butt. “That was also something we did last night.”

 


End file.
